Deer in the Headlights
by Anonymous-cat
Summary: Tell me again, was it love at first sight? Probably not, if Chell's reaction is any indication. But that doesn't stop Wheatley from trying.


**Deer in the Headlights**

**A/N-** This fic is slightly AU as it assumes that Chell was an adult before the events of Bring Your Daughter to Work Day, and that Wheatley was human before becoming a core. Based on the song Deer in the Headlights by Owl City

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><p>The young woman in the employee parking lot was struggling with several bags, shuffling them from arm to arm in an apparent attempt to carry as much as possible. It seemed obvious that she was never going to be able to carry everything in one go and would have to make two trips, but instead of setting anything down she stubbornly kept rearranging her packages. It was as if she believed if she kept going she would somehow stumble upon the magic combination that would allow her to make one trip, and she wasn't going to stop until she found it.<p>

It had been a long day at work, and all Martin Wheatley wanted to do was go home, flick on the telly, and curl up with a nice cup of hot cocoa. But the sight of the dark-haired woman made him pause. She would probably be there all night if no one stepped in and helped her, and Wheatley was nothing if not helpful. (Well, he tried to be. Some people were more appreciative than others.) Thinking that this woman was someone who would appreciate an offer of help, he walked up behind her and cheerfully said, "Hello! You look like you could use some assistance!"

At least, that's what he intended to say. In reality all he managed to get out was, "Hello! You look..." before the woman in question dropped all her things and spun around more quickly than he would have thought possible, spraying a foul mist in his direction.

"GAAAAAH!" Wheatley shrieked, surprised by the sudden onslaught of pain. "Bloody HELL!" His eyes were on _fire_, and he couldn't see a thing. On top of that he couldn't seem to get enough air; every breath left him gagging on the fumes of what he rightly assumed was pepper spray. "What... the hell... was _that _for?"

"Crap. I'm so sorry!" The woman's voice apologized, sounding worried. "I thought... I didn't mean... um, here, take this." He felt her pressing a water bottle into his hand. Quickly he unscrewed the cap and splashed some water in his eyes, although that didn't offer much relief. He took a couple swallows from the bottle before dumping the rest on his eyes anyway.

"I'm so, so sorry," the woman said again. "I'm a little on edge today, I guess, and I reacted without thinking. Are you okay?"

He was soaking wet, he still couldn't open his eyes, and his nose was leaking mucus uncontrollably. "I'll be alright," he tried to assure her, although privately he was sure that was far from the truth.

She didn't sound convinced. "That stuff won't wear off for at least half an hour." What, did she know from previous experience? He wondered how many other men had fallen victim to this trigger-happy woman. "What were you doing out here anyway?"

"I, ah, I was on my way home and it looked like you needed help... seems pretty obvious that you can take care of yourself though." He tried to grin but it turned out more like a grimace. "Suppose I should be on my way, then..." Eager to escape the increasingly awkward situation, he blinked rapidly and scanned the blurry parking lot for his car, taking a few uncertain steps in the direction he thought it was in.

"You're not seriously going to try to drive like that, are you?" The woman called out in disbelief.

"How else am I going to get home?" He replied, trying not to show his annoyance. The pain was making it difficult for him to concentrate. He'd probably end up sitting in the car for half an hour waiting for his vision to clear up and reevaluating his policy for helping people. This just proved it was more trouble than it was worth.

The woman hesitated for a moment, then said, "Look, normally I wouldn't do this, but do you want to come up to my apartment? You can wash your eyes out some more, and get cleaned up a bit."

"Right, he said dubiously, not quite sure what to make of that offer. "That's not mixed signals at all then. First you think I'm some kind of serial killer, then you trust me enough to invite me back to your place?"

"If you try anything, I've still got half a can left," she answered.

"...Point taken."

Wheatley considered. On the one hand, this woman had assaulted him without provocation, and he had completely humiliated himself in front of her with that scream and pained gasping. On the other hand, she did seem to be genuinely sorry, and she was right about his ability to drive home at the moment. "Well... I suppose a gentleman should always walk a lady home," he offered in an attempt to save what was left of his dignity.

"Right," she snorted, sounding amused. "Come on, then. It's not that far."

After about fifteen minutes of continuous dousing with water, Wheatley's eyes began to feel marginally better. At least he didn't need to keep them squeezed shut any more. Drying his face as best as he could with a stiff towel, his pushed his glasses back on and stepped out the bathroom door into the tiny flat. To his surprise, he recognized the floor plan. "This is employee housing," he said in surprise, feeling a bit foolish for not realizing that earlier. He'd lived in one of these boxes for a short period of time before getting a place off site.

"That's because as of today, I am an employee. Well, part-time employee, I guess," replied his host over her shoulder, while warming up a TV meal in the kitchen. "I'm assuming you work for Aperture too?"

"Um, yes, I work in the labs. I'm Martin Wheatley, by the way," he added, realizing that they hadn't been properly introduced. "I, ah, I don't think I got your name?"

"It's Chell," she answered, setting her steaming plate down on the counter. "Not Michelle, Not Rachelle, just Chell." She didn't offer a last name, and he didn't quite dare to ask.

"So, um, Chell... what has you so worked up that you feel the need to assault innocent passers-by with pepper spray?"

She blushed, a rosy hue slowly spreading across her olive toned cheeks. "It's just this place. Something about it... it doesn't give me a good feeling. It's probably nothing, but I finished filling out the paperwork today, and a lot of the questions were odd... things like, 'In the event of your disappearance, would you be missed?' That has to be a joke, right? I mean, why would they even need to know that?" She laughed nervously. "For a moment there I thought someone was coming to drag me away in the parking lot, but I guess that's stupid. You don't need to take someone by force if they've already volunteered."

Wheatley felt his heart skip a beat as he realized the implications of what she'd just said. "Wait... you're a test subject?"

Chell nodded, rolling her eyes a bit. "Like I said, employee, part time. It's not my first choice for a job, and the pay isn't outstanding, but there's this on-site housing, rent free. I can't afford a place of my own yet, so this seemed like a good option." She shivered slightly. "After today, though, I'm starting to rethink it. As soon as I can get back on my feet, I'm gone."

Right, he'd heard about that. A free housing program... they really were doing everything to draw in test subjects lately. Despite the fact that employee testing had become mandatory, they never seemed to have enough subjects to satisfy the execs. As more subjects came in, others left badly injured or disappeared altogether.

Wheatley had never really thought about the fate of the people who spent their days running Aperture's dangerous obstacle courses. He'd never had the opportunity to interact with the test subjects before, it wasn't his field. They'd all signed contacts, surely they knew the risks and decided they were worth taking. Now, however, he found himself faced with a living, breathing woman- a very attractive and helpful woman, despite her somewhat violent tendencies- who clearly had no idea what she was getting into.

And now she was staring at him, looking worried. "Are you alright?"

"Fine, perfect, never been better," he said, a bit too loudly. "In fact, I should probably be going, don't want to intrude on your personal space any longer. Thanks for everything. Well, not _everything_, I could have done without being painfully blinded... not that I'm holding a grudge or anything! And I'm grateful for everything past that point... erm, you know what I mean."

He was glad his eyesight had cleared up enough to give him a clear view of her smile. "Right. I'll see you around then?"

"I suppose so," he lied, knowing their paths weren't likely to cross again... unless, of course, he made an effort to seek her out. "Goodnight."

As he made his way to his car through the twilight chill, Wheatley was thinking furiously. For all that she had attacked him, he found himself liking the woman who had invited him into her home. There had to be some way to get her out of testing. He couldn't afford to lend her money to keep her on her feet until she could find a safer job, and anyway he didn't think she was the type to accept such an offer even if he could. Maybe he could find her a position in his department, which was (luckily) exempt from testing. If worse came to worse he could always let her stay at his place.

Wait, what? Wheatley shook his head to clear it. He'd only just met the woman, after all, it was a bit early to even consider something like that. Still, he resolved to do what he could to help her. He just had to figure out how.

Less than a week later, Wheatley discovered he wasn't quite so exempt from experimentation after all. The encounter with the girl in the parking lot, along with most other aspects of his human life, was forgotten.

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><p>At last.<p>

It had only been a few weeks, but to Wheatley it felt like years since he had taken this human body and set out to find the woman he had so grossly mistreated. It was a good thing she hadn't wandered too far away from Aperture, otherwise he might never have been able to find her. Luckily, though, a bit of questioning and luck, along with his brilliant deducting skills had led him to find the quiet, raven-haired woman who rarely spoke and had seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

As she made her way up the walk in front of her apartment building, a few bags of groceries in hand, he gathered up his courage and quickly stepped in front of her, blocking her way. "Hello. I'm not sure if you remember me... no, actually, you probably do, given that I tried to kill you... that was a horrible mistake, by the way, and it's really why I had to try and find you. I, uh, I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry about that, it was completely monstrous of me and I wouldn't blame you if you never forgave me, but I had to tell you anyway... Um. Do you even recognize me? Because that would make this apology rather awkward if you didn't, so if you could just give me some sign that you do, that would be great..." He trailed off.

At first she had just stared at him oddly, but close to the end of his speech he noticed her eyes widen with recognition. He barely had time to wonder why she was dropping her groceries and pulling her arm back before...

WHAM!

"I'm guessing that's a yes," he muttered, holding a hand up to his throbbing nose. It began leaking red fluid all over his fingers- _blood_, he remembered- right before he passed out.

As he came to, Wheatley reflected that he probably deserved the pain flooding his face. Actually, he deserved a lot more, considering what he had put her through. Glancing at his surroundings, however, he decided that torture was likely not part of the former test subject's plans for him. Instead, she had gotten him to some kind of living area... her apartment?... cleaned up the blood, and pressed an icy compress to his eye. And now she was sitting on the sofa next to him, leaking clear liquid from her eyes. _Crying._

That was definitely unexpected. He had imagined anger, hatred, or even cold indifference to his apology, not tears. He realized he hadn't the faintest idea what the tears meant- joy, grief, or even an odd type of anger. The only way to find out, he supposed, was to just ask her.

"Um, luv? I'm not quite sure why you're crying... I mean, I did an awful lot of things that might make you cry, but I don't know what I did just now that might have brought it on... anyway, I'm not sure what you're feeling, so if you could just give me some kind of expression... just smile, or, or glare at me or something, and maybe then I can get a better idea instead of just guessing," he said hopefully. "I'm really, _really_ terrible at guessing games."

She laughed through the tears streaming down her face, the first sound he could remember her making other than a few grunts of pain. Then her arms were around him, holding on as if she were afraid to let go, and he realized in a rare moment of insight that maybe _she_ didn't even know what she was feeling. And that was okay, he wasn't quite sure what he was feeling either. Maybe later she would want to punch him again. Maybe he would let her. For now, though, he placed his arms around her in an awkward attempt to return her gesture. They had enough time to figure it out.


End file.
